


A Visit From Neal

by Treon



Category: White Collar
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treon/pseuds/Treon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmas Tale.  Set pre-series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Visit From Neal

**Author's Note:**

> Written Christmas 2012.

_Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house_  
 _Not a creature was stirring._  
 _Well.. maybe one._  
  
Cover art by aragarna  
  
  


Elizabeth woke up to the darkness of her bedroom, Peter snoring softly by her side.  She was a light sleeper but she didn't usually wake up in the middle of the night. Something was nagging at the back of her mind, something she should be aware of.  And then she heard it, a rustling coming from downstairs.  
  
Being the good guard dog he was, Satchmo was dozing peacefully at the foot of the bed.  Maybe she'd just imagined it?  But just as she was about to put it off to her sleepy state, she heard it again.  There was definitely somebody walking around down there.  
  
"Honey!" she whispered to Peter, shaking him gently.  
  
"Uhhm."  He rolled over, turning his back on her.  
  
"Hon?  I think I heard somebody downstairs."  
  
Snore.  
  
She leaned over his prone form to whisper in his ear.  "Peter, the Mets just won the world series."  
  
Peter groaned and his eyes fluttered open.  "Wha-?"  
  
"Shh..  " Elizabeth put a hand to her husband's mouth.  "There's somebody downstairs.  Listen."  
  
For a long moment they held their breath, the only sound the ticking of El's alarm clock.  
  
"I don't hear anything," Peter mumbled, still groggy.  
  
Elizabeth hated to admit she hadn't heard a thing either, but she wasn't the scaredy-cat type that jumped at every odd sound, and she was sure she'd heard something _before_.  "Can you go downstairs and have a look?"  
  
Peter sighed as his wife's baby blues silently pleaded with him to go do his manly duty.  
  
"Fine.  But it's probably nothing, you know."  
  
Of course he could go downstairs and have a look.  Not that he had much of a choice.  If he'd tell El to go back to sleep and it later turned out he'd been robbed, he'd be the laughingstock of the office.  As if he wasn't doing a good enough job of it as it was.  
  
At the office Christmas party Jones had gotten up on a desk to all around tittering to give his rendition of Peter's "we'll turn every stone until we get him" speech from the previous year.  Back then Peter's task force was brand new and it had actually seemed like a good idea to start off the year with a big-profile bust like catching Neal Caffrey.  Jones had emphasized his words by waving a postcard Peter had gotten in early November.  Featuring white sandy beaches ringed by palm trees, and a 'wish you were here' scrawled on the back.  Peter had attached it to the evidence board, thinking it would encourage his team to catch the teasing thief.  
  
The younger agent actually did a pretty good Burke, causing even Peter to laugh, but deep down he had started wondering whether he wasn't pushing them all to do the impossible.  For all he knew Caffrey was indeed whiling away his time on some tropical beach.  As Jones joked, who wouldn't choose island sunshine over New York snow?  
  
Peter reached for the gun on his dresser, then almsot fell out of bed with a thud.  Untangling himself from the sheets, he tried to collect whatever shreds of dignity he had left.  Barefoot, he padded down the stairs, gun in hand.  The second floor corridor stretched before him.  Slowly he opened the guest room door, feeling just slightly stupid as he scanned the room, gun arm outstretched.  Next was El's office.  Clear too.  Bathroom, clear.  By this point he was actually hoping he'd discover somebody, so he wouldn't be running around in his PJs waving a gun in the middle of the night for nothing.  
  
Coming down to the first floor, Peter caught sight of a shadow moving by the Christmas tree he had put up just two days ago.  Instinct kicked in.  "FBI! Freeze!"  
  
The shadow leapt for the door, Peter taking the last half of the stairwell in two jumps to hurry in pursuit.  
  
The previous afternoon's snow was already starting to melt, leaving icky, slippery, muddy puddles in between the snow drifts.  Peter was in great shape, but he was running in his pajamas, barefoot, in the middle of the freezing street.  Hoping none of the neighbors were up at this time of night.  
  
The other man, dressed all in black, was in better shape, and was starting to pull away.  Back in college, Peter's coach had used to goad the team by telling them to start their sprints by running as fast as they could and then slowly increase the pace.  Feeling his lungs about to explode, Peter went for one last burst of speed, then lunged to tackle the other man.  It wasn't as gracefully executed as he'd planned, but it was enough to throw the other man off balance.  Both men went flying into the snow, as did Peter's gun.  The thief struggled up, but before he could do so, Peter retrieved his gun and cocked it at the man's back.  "Make one move and you're dead."  
  
The guy slowly raised his hands in surrender.  
  
Peter got to his feet and circled his kneeling prisoner.  Both men were panting heavily, vapor clouds forming around them, as they stared at each other.  The first to break the spell was Peter, a slow smile forming on his lips.  It was turning out to be a good night after all, the man he'd just stumbled into catching was the very same thief he'd been chasing the past couple of years: Neal Caffrey.  
  
Light flurries were starting to come down as Peter grabbed Caffrey by his sweater and hauled him to his feet.  The thief was warmly dressed, which just served to emphasize how cold Peter was getting.  "Hands behind your head, and you better not try anything."  
  
Peter forg-marched Caffrey towards the house.  Once inside, Peter pushed Neal non-too-gently into the center of the room.  Hooking one of the dining chairs with his foot, he dragged it away from the table.  "Sit.  And keep your hands where I can see them."  
  
The con-man was smart enough to do as he was told.  Peter kept his gun trained on Caffrey as he took a step towards the stairs.  "El!" he shouted up, "I've got him, can you bring down my cuffs?"  He shivered.  "Oh, and socks!"  As he waited for his wife, Peter finally had time to get a good look at Caffrey.  The man had an uncanny ability to look as if he'd actually intended to be sitting in the middle of an FBI agent's kitchen with his hands held high. "This has got to be one of your stupidest stunts, kid."  
  
Caffrey just shrugged, looking about with interest.  
  
"What, cat got down your tongue?"  
  
Elizabeth came down the stairs slowly, stopping once she caught sight of the captured thief.  She'd seen the man's photo so many times in the files Peter brought home from work, she immediately recognized him. "Isn't that-?"  
  
"Yes it is," Peter beamed.  "Neal Caffry, in the flesh.  Santa's gift to all hard-working FBI boys and girls."  
  
Approaching Peter, Elizabeth handed him the cuffs.  She looked at Neal curiously, while Peter holstered his gun and went about securing Caffrey's hands behind his back.  "Honey, he's hurt!"  Blood was trickling down Caffrey's temple.  
  
Peter brushed that off.  "It's just a scrape."  He had a couple of his own after his unplanned midnight run.  Then, at his wife's reproachful glance, "Please don't make him the victim here.  He _broke_  into our home!  I'll get a medic to have a look at him once I get him downtown."  Christmas Eve or not, the sooner he booked this guy, the better.  
  
Elizabeth just gave him her 'where's your manners' look and soon returned with a wet towel.  She handed Peter his socks before she kneeled by Caffrey, dabbing the towel gently at his face.  Neal flinched at first, but then relaxed at her touch.  "Just cleaning this up," she murmured.  
  
"Guess we don't want to be accused of harassment," Peter tried to gracefully back down.  He tested Caffrey's bonds to make sure they were secure, then sat down himself to put his socks on.  
  
Peter waited for El to step away from the prisoner before he got up.  "El, can you keep an eye on him?  I need to get dressed."  
  
"Dressed for what?"  Elizabeth blinked at him.  
  
"For the ride downtown.  He's not staying here, that's for sure."  
  
"Honey, there's a blizzard outside." Elizabeth opened the back door a crack to look out and immediately shut the door again.  
  
Peter took his eyes off Neal just long enough to check out the situation himself.  Elizabeth was right, the flurries of before had been replaced with a massive sheet of endless white.   
  
"Fine.  We'll wait for it to die down."  Peter glanced back at Neal with a thoughtful look.  It had seemed like ages ago, but when he'd come down, Caffrey had been doing something by the Christmas tree.  Peter moved to the living room to check it out.  "I didn't realize the art world was in such a slump.  You've been reduced to stealing Christmas gifts now?"  
  
Neal sniffed, finally breaking his silence.  "Your family sweaters are safe from any thief, Agent Burke."  
  
"Not your style, eh?" Peter gave the tree a good look-over.  Truth be told, they weren't his style either.  The presents he and El had prepared were still wrapped up.  Nothing _seemed_  to be stolen, and yet Caffrey was here, and he must have had a good reason.  "Wait.  What's this?"  He leaned down to pick up a plate full of cookies.  He was pretty sure it hadn't been there when he went to sleep.  
  
The cookies smelled good, but what caught Peter's eye was the plate they were on.  He moved towards the lighted kitchen to get a better look, dumping the cookies on the table to examine it.  It was china, heavy in Peter's hands.  A Christmas tree loaded with sparkly baubles was drawn on it in minute detail.  A hearth burning besides it, spreading warmth and cheer in vivid color.  Above hung a sign. "Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!". The only thing missing was a happy family to enjoy it all.  
  
Peter ran a hand over the plate.  The gold star above the tree glistened.  "Is that real gold?!" Peter squinted at it.  "Where did you steal this from?"  
  
"Don't worry, Agent Burke, these are all Caffrey originals."  Neal nodded with his head towards the table.  "Those too, and that's real Belgian chocolate right there, worth its weight in gold."  
  
"You bake?" Peter asked with disbelief.  He picked up a cookie and turned it over suspiciously in all directions before he hazarded to take a tentative bite.  He had to admit - at least to himself - that it was good.  A mixture of chocolatey sweetness and cranberry tartness.  "You realize this is all going straight to evidence."  
  
"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Hon."  Elizabeth grabbed a cookie off the table and took a bite.  "Hmm.. you made these yourself?"  
  
Neal shot her a grin.  "You like?"  
  
"Oh, they're delicious."  She took another one, savoring the taste.  "You added brandy?"  At his nod, she glanced at Peter.  "We're going to be sitting here awhile.  I'll get some hot cocoa."  
  
Peter caught Neal smiling at Elizabeth's receding back, and was satisfied to see the smirk wiped off the thief's face once he glanced back at Peter.  "Enjoy the moment, Caffrey." Peter gloated over his prisoner.  "With your rap sheet you're going to get ten years easy, and that's if you're lucky.  No more cookies and cocoa for you."  
  
Neal simply smiled.  
  
The sunlight was streaming in through the kitchen window when Peter woke up with a yawn, which quickly turned to a gasp.  He'd fallen asleep!  Besides him El was stretching out.  
  
The only thing left on the table was the plate, a few crumbs and a short calligraphed note.  
  
 _Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!_  
 _xoxoxo_  
 _Neal_


End file.
